


where you gonna run to

by Chicaroscuro



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:35:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chicaroscuro/pseuds/Chicaroscuro
Summary: Eleanor Shellstrop is fifteen when she summons her first demon.





	where you gonna run to

**Author's Note:**

> (so I ran to the devil  
> [he was waitin’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vDZsABHUbQ))

Eleanor Shellstrop is fifteen when she summons her first demon.

Teenage girls going through magic phases is such a dumb cliche, too. Who is she, one of those chicks who dress in black and spend their lunch period trying out rituals in the stairwell? _Lame_.

They’re just a bunch of losers trying to look cool. But Eleanor - Eleanor's fake ID got destroyed by some nosy cashier over the weekend. And she _needs_ that. She’s not like some other dumb kid just trying to buy beer; the bartending hours she picks up at night pay for most of her rent. She can’t cover all her expenses with just her _other_ shitty job unless she drops out of school, but if she does _that..._

She can't admit to her parents that she’s failing. She _definitely_ can’t go running back to them. There’s nowhere and no one to go to.

So, like everything else, she tries to figure it out on her own. But she barely manages to save any money at all, definitely not enough to buy another fake on short notice. She gets desperate.

And that's how she ends up with a couple of books shoplifted from one of the shadiest magic shops in town, drawing runes on the floor.

Every kid hears the warnings. _Don’t get caught up in black magic, and never EVER mess with demons._ But Eleanor's not some sucker who’s just gonna trade her soul away. She’s too smart to fall for that shit. Anyway, it’s almost better than trying to find an actual human being to help her out. At least demons have _rules._

First of all, you need the right sigil. She knows a few already, but only ones that call the kind of minor poltergeists little kids summon during sleepovers. So she steals a whole book just about those. As stupid as the guy who put it together must’ve been, it’s really helpful; each sigil includes notes about the summoning, the demon themselves, and their preferred type of payment. Eleanor picks one that’s strong but not _too_ strong, who seems tolerant of less bloody forms of sacrifice.

Then there’s the summoning ritual. Some of them are more complicated, but this demon doesn’t require anything beyond the basic pentagram and candles to appear. Hopefully they also don’t mind cheap birthday candles, because that’s what Eleanor’s working with.

The most important part  of it all is the protective ward, a series of runes drawn in a wide circle around the pentagram. She’s checked and double-checked them, against both the book and a few websites. As long as the ward is in place and everything’s right, the demon won’t be able to step outside it. She’ll be safe. If things start getting out of hand, she can even use it to dismiss the demon entirely.

So she feels okay. As long as you know what you’re doing, demons are a lot more predictable than people.

Of course, there’s also the bargain to think about. Demons tempt, and they lie, and they make contracts with sneaky loopholes that bite you in the ass. That’s just how it goes. But Eleanor’s made it on her own all the way until now. She thinks she can handle _one_ little deal.

She waits until nightfall, lights the candles, and performs the ritual. As she chants, the flames flicker in an invisible gust. The darkness in the room seems to grow heavier. Thick black smoke begins to coil in the middle of the circle. More and more of it billows out of nowhere, forming a tall column as she continues to chant, until she can’t see through to the other side.

As she finishes, the smoke dissipates abruptly. There’s an old man standing in the middle of the pentagram, frowning down at the glowing runes on the floor.

Eleanor stares up at him. He’s really tall, but that’s about his only feature that could even _maybe_ be intimidating. And it’s not even that, he’s way too skinny. His hair’s pure white, and he’s dressed like some kind of librarian. "Dude, _you’re_ supposed to be a demon?"

"What?" The old man peers down at her, his face crinkled in puzzlement. It reminds her of someone’s grandpa - not  _hers,_ but maybe a classmate’s, the normal kind who give you candy and get confused by cell phones. "Oh, no, no! I'm an angel! You must have gotten these runes wrong, poor thing, it’s an easy mistake...wait, you were trying to summon a demon?"

"Yeah," Eleanor blusters, trying to unobtrusively glance down at her book. She may not be the best student, but she _is_ sure she got the runes right. Didn’t she?

The man tsks. "Oh, but that's so dangerous! You can't do that! I - “ He leans forward, lapsing into a conspiratorial whisper. “I really shouldn't do this, but as long as I'm here, why don't you tell _me_ what the problem is? I bet we can work through this together."

He can’t get close to her, still trapped inside the ward, but Eleanor’s skin crawls like he’s gotten right up in her face. It’s weird. No one just agrees to help a stranger that fast, especially if it'd get them in trouble. Even angels probably don’t - fat lot of good angels have ever done _her._

"For real?" She screws up her face and starts squeezing out some tears. She’s gotten good at fake crying since she moved out. “It’s just, I got in a fight with my mom, and - “

He smiles, warmer than anyone else has ever smiled at her before. "Of course. Anything to help a human. My name's Michael.”

He offers his hand as if to shake hers. Eleanor looks at it. He’s reaching as far as he can, just on the other side of the ward. She’d have to cross to the inside to take it.

Lots of people might think that was still safe as long as you didn’t step all the way in. But Eleanor _did_ read all the books she stole. She narrows her eyes. "You _are_ the demon, though, aren't you?"

"What?" Michael's brow furrows, and he straightens quickly. "No, of course not! I'm - "

"Oh my god, cut the crap!” Eleanor explodes. “I just want to make a really quick deal, okay? I don't have time for you to play some dumb little game. You didn't trick me, I see this whole creepy thing you’re trying to do, so let’s move on!"

Michael aims his concerned frown at her for just a moment longer, before sighing and slipping his hands into his pockets. "Damn. That usually works so _well_ on children."

"Really? Are you only summoned by  _idiots_?"

"I'm only summoned by _humans_." Michael rolls his eyes, then fixes her with a newly cold gaze. It looks natural on his face - but then, that warm look did too. "What do you want, then?"

“I need an Arizona driver’s license that says I’m 21.”

Michael blinks, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “You’re willing to trade your soul for a _fake ID?"_

“ _No,"_ Eleanor snaps, before he gets any bright ideas. “I want a _real_ ID. And I’m not trading my soul! You like memories and stuff, right?” The author of that book had apparently traded away a few memories for some favors, years and years ago. He traded some secrets too, but Eleanor’s not sure about that idea. “You can have one of my childhood memories, I don’t need ‘em anyway.”

“I want all of them,” Michael replies immediately. “Birth to...what are you, twelve?”

“I’m _fifteen._ You can have _one._ How about when my mom took me to the water park as a kid?” None of Eleanor’s family memories are really great, but that one is fun. It’s gotta sound like something she’ll miss, or he won’t want it.

Michael frowns. “That’s what, an afternoon? At least give me all of middle school. Nobody likes middle school anyway.”

That’s true. But it’s a whole three years. Eleanor might be willing to give it away if she were older, but right now that’s a pretty big chunk of her life. Would she just wake up and think she was twelve again? “The water park and…” She pauses. He tilts his head at her a little, like a snake waiting to strike. His white hair catches the candlelight, a halo of flickering orange.  “...and every time I visited my grandparents.”

He purses his lips, still not looking entirely pleased. Eleanor knows she’s not offering a lot. But she’s not _asking_ for a lot, either. This can be quick and easy, just a little bit of profit for both of them. “Come on, man,” she wheedles. “You wanna take it, or what? I can always just ask a different demon, I’m sure _someone_ will.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Michael sighs finally. “Whatever. The contract is sealed.”

The summoning runes flare with blue light at his words. Eleanor winces against the glare. When she opens her eyes again, Michael is holding out a license. “You seriously think I’m that dumb?” she deadpans, holding up her hands to catch it instead.

“It was worth a shot.” But he tosses it to her without a fuss. “And my payment.” He snaps his fingers. Nothing happens. Eleanor doesn’t feel any different afterwards. But when she tries to remember the things she offered in return - she remembers what she _said_ they were, just now when they made the deal, but she doesn’t remember _them_ at all. They’re just gone.

She can’t help but shiver. Once Michael quit the angel act, everything went pretty smooth; it was easy enough that she stopped focusing on the kind of entity she was dealing with. He just stole a piece of her mind with just a snap of his fingers, like it was nothing. What is he even going to do with it? What _else_ could he have done if she’d screwed this up? “Okay,” she says. Her voice comes out a little high-pitched, and she has to swallow. “Cool. You can go now, I dismiss you.”

“Nice doing business with you,” Michael replies sardonically, and his form collapses back into shadows and smoke. Both dissipate within a few seconds, leaving only her tiny apartment, looking even dingier than normal in the candlelight.

Eleanor heaves a sigh and sits down on the floor.

She is _never_ doing that again.

 

* * *

 

But Eleanor is still just a kid living on her own. She still doesn't have anybody to turn to when things go bad. Michael may be a literal demon who's probably come up with a thousand new tricks to kill her and steal her soul since they met, but that fake ID is _perfect._ Sometimes when she shows it to people, they suddenly say she reminds them of someone - a daughter, a sister - and suddenly it's so much easier to get what she wants. It must be some kind of low-level enchantment. She’s not sure why a demon would throw in extra magic for free, but she thinks it must be a pride thing.

Despite everything, she’s gotta give him that. The guy makes good on his deals.

So two years later, when she gets mugged on her way home, he’s the only person she can think of who might be able to help. Not because he’s actually a helpful _person_ , but she’ll take what she can get.

Michael’s wearing a different suit when he arrives, black with a striped purple tie. For a moment his eyes are wide with mock confusion, but he drops the act as soon as he sees her. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?”

“I need you to track down the guy who mugged me, and get my phone and wallet back. _With_ all my money and stuff in it!” There’s no point in pleasantries. Theirs is a straightforward business relationship. “You can have his soul.”

“You can’t bargain with something that’s not yours, Eleanor.” Michael sounds bored, but she thinks there’s something a little approving in his gaze. Maybe she should feel bad for trying that? “If humans could sell other people’s souls for power, we would have broken out of Hell and razed Earth by now.”

“Is that a thing you’re trying to do?”

The demon just waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Got anything else? I haven’t had an opportunity to terrorize anyone for a while, I’m interested in this job.”

“You could have this?” She holds up her backup offering, a thin black notebook. The mugging came out of nowhere, but she’s had years to come up with ideas, things to sell that didn’t come out of her own head. This is just something that was close at hand.

Michael peers at her. “What _is_ it?”

“This is the diary of some chick at school. Rebecca Lancaster.” Becky’s been a bitch to Eleanor since sixth grade. Stealing her diary is a little petty in terms of Shellstrop revenge plots, but it had a larger purpose. “You wanna know human secrets? There’s a ton of them in here.”

“You’re serious?” Michael chuckles. “You’re giving me a teenager’s diary?”

“Hey, just thought I’d offer.” Eleanor shrugs. “I read it already, and there is some _hilarious_ stuff in there.”

The demon seems to think about that for a moment, and then holds out a hand and waggles his fingers. “Let me look.”

“What, let you read it for free? No way, dude. Tell you what, I’ll read you something.” She flips through the pages until she finds one of the funnier passages and starts reading it aloud. It’s nothing groundbreaking, especially for somebody who doesn’t know Becky, but the whole thing is practically _dripping_ with angsty teen melodrama. Eleanor puts on her dumbest voice, just to make absolutely sure the ageless demon gets the joke.

By the time she’s done, he’s at least smiling, amused and maybe a little bemused. “Ha, okay,” he drawls, peering down his nose at her. “I’m a generous demon. I think we can work this out. You read the rest of that to me, and then I’ll head out of here and hunt down your thief. Deal?”

Eleanor chews on her lip. It all seems good, if a little vague. There must be some kind of catch. “What are you gonna do? I don’t want you to kill him.” People have gone to jail for that kind of thing. Assault via demon is also very illegal, but murder’s way more likely to draw attention.

“My end of the deal is getting your things back.” Michael shrugs. “I’ll do what I need to accomplish that goal. You haven’t paid me enough for a death, but I think some roughing up falls within our terms.”

She smiles, a spiteful part of her warmed by that. “Deal.”

The rest of her dramatic Becky performance takes less than an hour. Michael takes a seat on the floor, long limbs folded carefully to avoid the ward, and cackles throughout. Eleanor can’t help but giggle a little too. It _is_ pretty funny.

When it’s over, Michael stands, stretches, and vanishes. He returns less than an hour later, and tosses her stuff to her from safely inside the ward without needing to be asked. Blood is spattered on his sleeves, and his eyes are bright.

 

* * *

 

Eleanor gets better at life eventually. It’s so much easier once she’s out of high school; she gets a few jobs, a few roommates, a better apartment. She learns how not to make the same dumb mistakes over and over.

Except for the one where she summons Michael.

The first time it’s a little after she’s moved in. As soon her roommates are out, she calls him up to scan the apartment for ghosts. Most people would get a medium to do that, but a demon’s guaranteed not to be a fraud, and he accepts her payment of three new bowties more readily than she expected.

“There’s nothing here,” he confirms, laying one of them along his sleeve to compare the colors. “What made you think there was?”

“I dunno,” Eleanor replies with a shrug. Truthfully, there wasn’t anything. The noises the building makes at night are still new, but she doesn’t scare easily. “Just figured I’d check before I moved all my shit in here. We’re on the fourth floor, and I am _not_ carting everything back down those stairs just because some asshole died in here once.”

“I’m not saying no one’s ever _died_ in here.” Michael shoots her a grin. She can’t decide if it’s teasing or not. “I’m just saying they  _left_.”

But she talks to a demon semi-regularly. What does she care? “I can live with that.”

A few months later, it’s a shitty boss who won’t hand over her last paycheck. And then she just doesn’t want to bother getting her stuff from her ex’s place herself. The bargains just keep getting smaller and smaller. It’s easy to let them, because she’s not the only one making things easier. It turns out that Michael can be pretty cheap to bargain with once you get to know him. She just collects stuff she thinks he’d like - a Rubik’s cube, some shiny cufflinks an ex left behind, a Dr. Oz book - and stockpiles them in her dresser for the next time she wants to call him for something. It’s not exactly riches or blood, but he always seems happy enough; he hasn’t pressed her for memories or knowledge in years.

She’s not sure why she keeps doing it. Maybe it’s the thrill. Their chats have gotten downright friendly - sometimes he’s the only person whose company she can handle - but she still knows it’s dangerous. Demons are only nice to humans as a tactic.

But...maybe that’s sort of nice itself, in a weird way. With other humans, no matter how good they act, she’s always just waiting for that other shoe to drop. With Michael, it’s already very clear exactly what he wants, and she knows exactly how to keep him from hurting her.

She doesn’t trust anybody. But she can trust a demon to go right on being what he is.

“So hey,” she says to him one night, when she’s newly single and wanted someone to share a bottle of vodka with. “Do you actually _own_ anybody’s souls right now?”

He turns to frown up at her. She’s sitting on her bed, but he’s just got a few pillows piled on the floor. What, like she’s gonna draw a summoning circle around a couch? “Why do you ask?”

Because she wants to remind herself what she’s dealing with. Because she wants to know. Maybe because she’s feeling shitty, and she wants to remind herself that _she’s_ done this dozens of times, and never once come close to losing her soul.

“I dunno, just curious.”

“Huh.” His gaze is dark on her for a second before he turns away. “I’m waiting on a few. They’re mine once they die.”

A chill runs through Eleanor. She reaches over for one of her pillows, pulls it into her lap. “And then what, you drag them to Hell and torture them?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, you don’t _know_ any of them.”

She tries to hold that in her mind. There’s other actual people, living their lives somewhere, who’ll die one day and have their souls torn apart by her - by her _acquaintance_ , she tells herself firmly. Michael’s not her _friend._ He’d add her to his collection just as fast, if she ever let him.

It’s been ages, though, since he even brought up souls. There was a time she never would’ve risked getting drunk around him, but he doesn’t bargain or barter anymore. He just takes her first offer and settles in. It’s almost a routine.

Eleanor knows she’s not a good person. Hell, she spends more time hanging out with a literal demon than any of her actual human friends. She shouldn’t care at all about some strangers who were dumb enough to sell their souls.

It’s just…

“Were they bad people?” she asks, laying back to look at the ceiling. “I mean, what’d they sell their souls for? Unlimited cosmic power?”

“Nah, nothing like that. This one girl just wanted people to love her better than her sister.” Michael snorts. “Didn’t specify _which_ people, or how many _._ Rookie mistake. But she was young.”

He falls quiet. Eleanor doesn’t break the silence. On the TV, Kim Kardashian is shouting. She watches without really absorbing it. _She_ was pretty young when she first met Michael. It’s easy to think that other people should’ve been as careful as her, but applying that to an actual kid who fucked up feels...kinda bad.

“I don’t know if they were bad people,” Michael continues after a long silence. “Does it matter? They _did_ bargain with a demon, most humans think that’s bad.”

Eleanor takes another pull of vodka and settles back morosely into her blankets. “ _I_ bargain with you all the time.”

“I guess you do,” he replies softly.

If he says anything after that, she doesn’t hear. At some point she must have dozed off. She wakes up to sunlight streaming in between her closed blinds. The candles have all burned out, and all that’s left of Michael is a pile of pillows neatly stacked by the ward’s edge.

 

* * *

 

The last time Eleanor summons Michael is the day she almost died.

She tells her roommates about it. They don’t care. So she goes off to her room to...summon a demon? Who also won’t care? Later on, she realizes how dumb that sounds, but at the time it makes total sense - she’s running on autopilot, hands still trembling with adrenaline as she draws the circles and lights the candles.

“Eleanor.” Michael greets her with a smile, and glances out the window at the bright blue sky. “Little earlier than usual. What’s up?”

“I - I don’t know, I just.” She turns to pace the room, the five or so steps left that don’t carry her into the circle. There’s no point seeking sympathy here. Literally no one cares. But there’s other things he might know, other information that suddenly seems a lot more relevant to her daily life. “Am I going to Hell when I die?”

Michael frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Am I going to _Hell_ when I _die,_ Michael?” Her voice comes out louder than she intended. “When I die, am I going to get tortured forever by demons for being a bad person? I figured you should know, seeing as you’re _one of the demons!_ ”

“I - “ Eleanor’s rarely seen Michael caught off-guard. It’s a little satisfying. “I - guess I could tell you that, sure. Why don’t we sit down, you can just toss me that candy bar over there or something, and we’ll talk?“

“Oh, no. No deals right now.” Eleanor suppresses a vicious grin; it’s not even really his fault. _She’s_ the one who sucks. “I almost died today. If I did, would you be dragging my soul to Hell right now?” She’s not sure if that would be better or worse. Like, at least there’d be a familiar face, but then what?

Michael gapes at her. “You almost _died?_ What happened?”

“There were these shopping carts, and a truck…” She waves a hand. “That’s not important!”

“Isn’t it?”

“No! I could’ve died, and who cares? Not my _friends._ I had to summon a literal demon to have someone to talk to!” She laughs. God, it’s so stupid. How badly do you have to screw up your whole life to be left with only the demon that’s waiting around for your soul? “How horrible a person _am_ I?”

“Eleanor - “

She ignores him, the deceptive softness of his tone. “Fuck. Is there some way I can make this better? What if I go volunteer somewhere? How many volunteer hours does it take to balance out this much demon summoning? Man, I have _really_ been the worst I could’ve possibly been, huh? I’m kinda a monster!”

“ _Eleanor!_ “

Michael takes a step towards her, and then another.

For the second time today, everything seems to stop. Eleanor looks down, at where Michael’s polished brown dress shoe has landed on the wrong side of the circle. With sudden clarity, she sees the misplaced rune.

Her heart clenches. She _knows_ better than to summon when she’s upset. And now it's finally gone wrong.

Michael’s frozen too. “You - “ His blue eyes are wide, and his gaze darts as she looks at him. Towards the door? Does he know there’s other potential victims in the apartment?

Eleanor takes a shaking step backwards. The motion draws Michael’s eyes back to her, and she just asked him if she’d be dragged to Hell, isn’t this just the perfect time for a _practical demonstration?_ God, she’s dumb! “Don’t - “ Her voice cracks. She fumbles blindly behind her, grabbing a dirty fork from an old take-out container - if she’s going down, she’s not just gonna take it.

“I have to go,” Michael blurts, and vanishes.

Eleanor holds her breath for a moment. It’s too good to be true. He’ll come back. He _could._ He could bring other demons back here with him, do anything he wanted -

\- but nothing happens.

After a moment, the spell breaks. What is she doing just _standing here?_ Eleanor lunges forward and drops to her knees, furiously wiping the summoning circle away. There, the door’s closed. He can’t come back. He’s _not_ coming back.

She’s gonna be better than this.

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just gotta like, work on something utterly unrelated to anything, idk


End file.
